


the language of flowers

by epicmoonintensifies



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Courting Rituals, Courtship, Dancing, F/M, Flowers, Language of Flowers, One Shot, Ozpin has anxiety, Secret Admirer, ozpin gets properly romanced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicmoonintensifies/pseuds/epicmoonintensifies
Summary: Flowers are for guys too, okay?
Relationships: Ozpin (RWBY)/Reader
Kudos: 43





	the language of flowers

Five camellias. White.

They’re arranged neatly on his desk, in plain view where they can be admired, but not in such a way that they dominate his workspace. They are off to the side, soft and unobtrusive but still impossible to miss. They are meant to be seen. And seen by _him_ , which is the strangest part of it all.

This is not Glynda’s work. Obviously. The day Glynda gives him flowers is the day he dies. If even that. She seems too pragmatic to offer flowers to a gravestone, but he may be wrong. Either way, she would never do _this_ , unless he asked her to, which he did not.

Camellias. Camellias mean something, don’t they? Well, all flowers do, and he used to know them by heart because, once, communication through flowers was so incredibly common, but that art has passed on. Hardly anyone knows about the language of flowers anymore. Whoever left these for him probably has less of an idea of what camellias mean than he does.

Ozpin has to pull out a dusty old book that he hasn’t even touched in years in order to find the passage he wants. He’s glad that he does.

Five Camellias. White. _Admiration_.

* * *

He finds you in Forever Falls. He believes it to be your favorite place, the haven to which you most often escape, because he knows he can find you there more often than not. And, despite it being a place to which you go to remove yourself from human company, you always seem pleased to see him.

“Do you mind if I sit with you awhile?” he asks.

You do not answer, but you smile at him, and red leaves flutter in a dancing panic across the ground. They’re caught in his hair and his scarf, but he doesn’t mind, mostly because he finds himself charmed by with the way those red leaves are decorating your whole body. You must have been here for a very long time.

He sits next to you. Maybe he sits too close, but he has been craving real human contact for too long to resist, and you have always welcomed his presence in such a warm and friendly way that he cannot imagine that you’ll blame him for wanting to be close to someone.

“I see why you like this,” he admits after a long stretch of silence.

“You’re free to join me whenever you like,” you reply, and Ozpin is glad.

So he sits with you until the sky dims, watching red leaves dance on the wind.

* * *

Seven petunias. Pink. _Your presence soothes me._

They replace the wilting camellias. He saves one to press in a book.

* * *

Ozpin can’t remember the last time he had an anxiety attack.

He has one today. It feels just about the same as last time, whenever the last time was. He’s not sure.

The pressure has been building and no amount of hot cocoa can soothe this away. Pain pinches behind his chest and his head throbs and his lungs constrict and he is ready to _fling_ himself off the side of the tower if that means that oxygen will be forced back into his body, because even though he knows that he must be breathing (he would be unconscious by now if not), he feels like he is suffocating. He is being smothered both from within and without, his heart bursting and his skin tightening, until-

-until he is on the ground, his knees giving out on him and his vision blotching as his blood roars in his ears, and he is _gasping_ for air that he already has but can’t feel, and-

-and… a breath.

Another breath. In, out. He heaves a sob of relief. He can feel the air.

In, out. Gasp. In, out. Hot tears hit cold stone.

In, out. His chest hurts. Crying makes this harder than it already is.

In, out. Think of… red leaves.

In, out. More tears streaking his face.

In, out. Forever Falls and dancing red leaves and cool, crisp air. Think of that.

In, out. Think of that. Don’t stop.

In, out.

_Don’t stop._

* * *

Two Day Lillies. Yellow. _Forget your worries._

He wonders if his mysterious flower-giver knows how appropriate this message is.

* * *

Today is better. His chest still hurts and crying has left him feeling aches in odd places, but he is not going to lose his breath today. _Today_ , he takes time on his appearance to make _himself_ feel better. _And_ to wash away the blotchy, swollen evidence of his crying fit, but that doesn’t matter. Not today.

Today is a good day, whether it wants to be or not.

Today, Glynda gives him an strange look that lasts a few seconds too long. He knows that she sees some remaining redness in his eyes and the rawness where he scrubbed the tear-tracks from his cheeks, but she says nothing and he offers no explanation. There is no explanation to give.

He sees you today. You smile at him, like you always do.

“You look…” you begin to say, and trail off.

_Like I’ve been crying_ , he imagines, ready for you to point out that, despite the fact that he tried to cover it up, he really does look awful after yesterday’s episode. _Tired. Washed-out. Like I haven’t slept, perhaps? Like I’ve been ill?_

“… like you’re feeling better,” you finish decidedly. “Maybe… relieved. Better, anyway. It’s nice to see you like this.”

He smiles all the way back to the tower.

_Don’t stop._

* * *

One gardenia. White. _You are lovely._

Ozpin brings the flower to his face to hide the flush of embarrassment that turns his cheeks pink.

* * *

He doesn’t see you for a few weeks. This isn’t all that unusual. He has the school to watch over, among other things, and you have your own work to keep you occupied. But, still, he makes a point to visit Forever Falls as often as he can spare the time, making excuses that here have been too many Grimm there for his comfort. If Glynda notices that he gives the Emerald Forest no such attention, she doesn’t call him out for it.

It’s silly, perhaps, to want to see you so much. He’s not even sure _why_ , only that it is so good to go to somebody who you _know_ will be glad to see you and will always have some time to spare just for you, no matter the circumstances.

You are that person, for him. He doesn’t know if you do that for everybody or only a special few. He cannot imagine a reason that would make him special, though. Not to you.

He doesn’t find you today, but he’ll see you soon. He’s sure of it.

* * *

Seven pansies.Red. _You occupy my thoughts._

* * *

Forever Falls. Red leaves swirl across the ground in a windswept tumble.

“I missed you!” he says before he can stop himself, and you look as surprised as he feels by his outburst.

“You did?” You smile in a way that is almost bashful, but too genuinely pleased to be dimmed by such shyness. “Aw…”

Ozpin inwardly berates himself for such a lapse in control as embarrassment makes him want to cringe. He can feel a heat rising from his chest and can only hope that he doesn’t give in to this body’s _unfortunate_ predilection for blushing.

“Oz, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you say, and the professor is no longer as embarrassed as he is disappointed with himself.

_It can’t be_ , he thinks, but it is. He has never allowed himself to be open with you or with anyone, but in the one moment he left himself unguarded, he spoke on single truth without covering it in shadows or burying it in irreverent context.

_I missed you._

And so he says one more thing that is plain truth and just for you.

“How remiss of me. I should think of some nicer things to say.”

* * *

Ten Morning Glories. Periwinkle. _Affection._

Ozpin wonders.

* * *

He holds his hand out to you and you accept it. He remembers, in years and lives gone by, dancing like this, not amongst the forever falling red leaves, but at extravagant parties. Fine wine no longer made in crystal flutes and ladies in dresses of spun silk and moonlight kaleidoscoped by stained-glass windows and an orchestra playing music that has been forgotten in the last thousand years.

This, here and today with you, is better than all of that put together.

_Ridiculous_ , he thinks, but it is true. And he does not want to admit it, not to himself and certainly not to you, but he knows why he feels like this.

_Not yet. Not yet._

He asked you on a whim, bowing as was good etiquette, and you accepted before he even realized what he was doing. Now, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he leads you into the first steps of a dance that has been forgotten by time but not by him. You do not need to know the steps. He leads well enough to make up for it.

_Don’t stop._

Red leaves dance. Today, he dances with them.

He spins you and you laugh. You are not the best dancer he has ever been partnered with, but whoever they were, he doesn’t remember them. They do not matter. You are here, dancing with him, and that is everything.

_Don’t stop._

* * *

Three Sweet Peas. Pink. _Delicate pleasure. Thank you for a lovely time._

_It must be you,_ he thinks, tenderly holding the delicate flowers to his face. The soft petals smell spicy, sweet, and fresh. _Please be you._

* * *

He has begun meeting you at regular intervals, work be damned. You are always there when he needs you, and vice versa, without fail.

_Don’t stop._

On a cold day, he gives you his jacket. You don’t give it back, but he ends up with one of your scarves, and he considers it just payment.

He brings hot cocoa to share. You act like it is a grand gift, but maybe it is - he can’t recall ever sharing it outside of his office before.

You dance with him in a rain of red leaves and he lets himself laugh with you when you slip and fall together. You don’t bother to get up for a long time, reclining in the red leaves and watching a pale sky fill with vivid sunset colors.

He tells you fairy tales, and he thinks that you’ll tire of them, but then you say, “Do you know the one about…?” and he is given the opportunity to recite your favorite to you. You say the words with him at the best parts, and he finds a new enthusiasm for the story that he never had before.

_Don’t stop._

* * *

Three chrysanthemums. Red. _I love._

His heart soars.

* * *

He introduces you to Qrow more out of necessity than anything else. You meet on accident and it cannot be avoided. Qrow is, oddly, polite and charming, and far less flirtatious than he usually would be.

Ozpin is thankful, until Qrow smirks at him when your back is turned.

“Nice one, Oz,” says Qrow, and Ozpin _does_ resist the urge to facepalm. Barely.

* * *

Three Violets. _Let’s take a chance on happiness._

* * *

This time, you take _his_ hand, and he does not dare to let go, not for a single moment. Time has been his ally and his enemy for all his lives, and he will not let it steal a single moment more of you from him. Whether this is what he believes it to be or not, whether you accept him in the end or not, he will treasure it all, and you will leave an imprint on his soul that will last all the rest of his lives, no matter how many of those he might have.

* * *

One rose. Orange. _Enthusiasm. Desire. I am ready to be more with you._

_This is it. This is it. It **must** be her._

* * *

Ozpin rushes to you the next day, and you run to meet him, and you fall into a kiss that speaks volumes. When it is over, he has no questions left ( _do you want me, do you love me, will you let me love you, can I touch you, would you be mine, would you take me, would you hold me, do you care, do you notice, do you feel this too_ ), except for one.

**“You gave me flowers?”**

You smile at him. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

* * *

Three tulips. Red. _Believe me. I love you._

Three tulips. Cream. _I will love you forever._

_Don’t stop._


End file.
